no, freakshow.

Fiasco.
I go upstairs.
I put on music.
I put on clear pants.
I put on giant leopard shirt.
I paint nails black.
Nails are wet.
I receive text from Taylor that he is downstairs.
I take off clear pants.
I put on opaque pants.
I put on bra.
I mess up polish on thumb nail.
I go downstairs.
I say hello to Taylor.
I say goodbye to Taylor.
I walk upstairs.
I remove opaque pants.
I put on clear pants.
Basket of nail polish falls off door.
Nail polish bottles are everywhere.
I pick up nearest bottle to put it away.
It is wet.
I look around.
No colors are out of their bottles
I look closer.
A bottle is broken.
The bottle of clear nail polish is broken. (miracle?)
I start picking up pieces of glass.
I start throwing them away.
My hands become sticky.
It smells strongly of nail polish.
I pick up more pieces.
My fingers are so sticky I want to die.
Hair from floor collects on my fingers.
NON-BLONDE HAIR COLLECTS ON MY FINGERS.
I begin to have a panic attack.
Our vacuum apparently doesn’t work.
I go to the bathroom.
I start washing my hands.
Nail polish doesn’t come off easily.
I have apprehensive feelings.
Hair is still stuck.
I think I am crying.
Fifteen minutes has passed.
I leave the water running.
I return to my room.
I pick up more pieces.
I apply acetone to cotton balls.
I start rubbing the outside of bottles.
My newly painted polish rubs off.
I rub it the rest of the way off.
I pour bottle of acetone on the carpet.
It smells very unpleasant.
I go back to the bathroom.
I wash my hands.
I walk back to my room.
I light a caramel pecan candle.
I light a cinnamon pumpkin candle.
It is not enough.
Breathing is still difficult.
I think kortney has punctured my lung.
Fiasco.